The Sorceress Read online

  Past Praise for the Witches of Orkney series

  Praise for The Blue Witch:

  2019 American Fiction Awards: Best Cover Design: Children’s Books—Finalist

  2019 American Fiction Awards: Juvenile Fiction—Winner

  2019 Readers’ Favorite Awards Gold Medal Winner in Children’s Mythology/Fairy Tale

  2019 Moonbeam: Gold Medal Winner in Pre-Teen Fiction/Fantasy

  “An enchanting new book full of magical mischief and adventure, Alane Adams’s The Blue Witch is guaranteed to please.”

  —Foreword Clarion Reviews

  “Bright, brave characters star in this exhilarating tale of magic and mystical creatures.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  Praise for The Rubicus Prophecy:

  “Adams’ concise prose delivers a quick read that’s packed with colorful characters and subplots … Returning illustrator Stroh’s bold black-and-white artwork, as in the previous book, perfectly captures the author’s stunningly detailed world.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  Copyright © 2022 Alane Adams

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address SparkPress.

  Published by SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint,

  A division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC

  Phoenix, Arizona, USA, 85007

  www.gosparkpress.com

  Published 2022

  Printed in the United States of America

  Print ISBN: 978-1-68463-157-5

  E-ISBN: 978-1-68463-158-2

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2022910422

  Interior design by Tabitha Lahr

  All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Witches of Orkney

  Volume Five:

  THE

  SORCERESS

  ALANE ADAMS

  To Delaney—May you learn to love reading!

  Prologue

  Valhalla

  Hall of the Gods

  Ancient Days

  Odin stood in the throne room of the gods, staring down at the swirling mists revealed in the floor beneath his feet. Orkney looked like a sparkling green jewel from up here but truth be it was more of a thorn. Bringing the isles into the Ninth Realm had not sat well with the other gods. Most grumbled that it would end in disaster. They were probably right, but what was he to do? Leave mankind to suffer at the hands of magic? Destroy it completely? No. This choice had been the only one that gave him peace. Time would tell whether it was the right one.

  A familiar green creature scampered into view.

  “Not now, Fetch,” Odin growled.

  Odin’s minion bowed so low, his floppy ears dusted the ground. When he lifted his head, large almond-shaped eyes gazed at Odin nervously. “Your Highestness, there is a situation.”

  “What kind of situation?” Were the gods already in revolt?

  “The Dagda is here. He wishes to speak with you.”

  “The Dagda?” Odin cast back in his memory. Ah, yes. The Tuatha de Danann. Celtic beings to the west that were more troublesome than powerful.

  “What does he want?”

  “Sanctuary, your Sireness.”

  Odin turned at that. “Sanctuary? Where?”

  Fetch’s face turned a shade of purple as his hands twisted nervously. “Er … here.”

  “Oh curse it, Odin, let me in to speak.” The gruff voice sounded outside the tall double doors made of carved gold that barred entrance to the inner chamber of the gods.

  Odin waved a hand and the doors swung open. An old man stood leaning on a crooked staff. He pushed his hooded cloak back, revealing a long white beard and heavily lined face. His robes were made of faded green velvet that had seen better days. He hobbled forward, raising a wrinkled hand in greeting.

  “Tis been a long time, brother.” His voice had the lilting accent of his people.

  “We are not brothers,” Odin said stiffly.

  The old god shrugged. “Aye, but we carry the same burden. I look out for the people of Aran as you look out for yours.”

  “How did you come to Valhalla?”

  “The Bifrost bridge is a difficult journey to be sure, but not impossible. Your son Thor happened to pass by with his chariot. His goat nearly bit me hand off, but when I told him you were expecting me visit, he was more than happy to deliver me.”

  Odin seethed. He would have to have a word with Thor. “What is this nonsense about sanctuary?”

  “May I?” The Dagda pointed to one of the thrones and sat himself down before Odin could answer. “My knees t’ain’t what they used to be. Times have changed as you know. Magic is no longer welcome in the world of mankind. I wish to preserve what we have. I am offering a pair of islands to take into your Ninth Realm. Same as you did with the Orkney isles.”

  “Impossible,” Odin snorted. “Your people are not my responsibility.”

  The god’s eyes sparked with sudden fire. “Are not all people our responsibility? Tis what makes a god, tis it not? You have ample room. You have done a magnificent job fitting in the Orkney isles. Surely a couple more will be no burden?”

  Odin sighed, sitting himself down on his throne. “It has not been well received by the others on the council.”

  The Dagda’s face turned grave. “Then let me give you a bigger reason. One which threatens your precious mankind.”

  Odin stilled. “Tell me. What have you done?”

  “T’wasn’t I but me brother Ogma. Centuries ago he created something he shouldn’t have. It was meant to be a gift to our people. It was only later that we came to understand its dangers. We buried it of course. But if it is ever recovered …” The Dagda detailed the events that had transpired centuries ago.

  As Odin listened, a chill settled over him. The Dagda was right. If the cursed object were ever recovered, there would be no turning back.

  Still Odin hesitated. “Tell me more about your people. Are they a peaceful sort?”

  The Dagda’s brow furrowed. “We have seen our share of conflict. The Fomorians will never agree to peace.”

  “Then why not leave them out?”

  “Their magic is powerful. They will turn their eye toward others even more helpless. Is that your wish?”

  Odin drummed his fingers on the arm rest. “Do you have trouble with witches?”

  A flicker passed over the old god’s face but he shrugged. “Do not all homes have vermin living among them? They are no more troublesome than your own.”

  He was lying, of that Odin was certain, but the truth remained that action was needed.

  “I’ll do it.” He clasped the golden Belt of Destiny cinched around his waist. Fine threads of gold had been woven together and imbued with powers far beyond the Belt of Strength that gave Thor his ability to wield the Mjolnir.

  “Take me to the Aran Isles.”

  Chapter 1

  Abigail strode toward the iron gates of the Tarkana Fortress, a cheery lift to her step. Summer had ended, along with her trip to the southern tip of Balfour Island to practice advanced spell casting with Madame Arisa and a select group of witchlings. The other girls walked ahead
, chattering excitedly about new classes and the adventures they’d shared.

  It had been the most fun Abigail had enjoyed since coming to the Tarkana Academy. Their days had been filled with practicing magic outside the pressure of the classroom and their nights spent around leaping fires hearing stories told by older witchlings. She had felt like she belonged for the first time since arriving. Best of all, Endera had declined the placement with Madame Arisa, which meant Abigail was free from her constant glowering.

  She stopped behind the throng of witchlings gathered outside the looming gates, waiting for them to be opened. So much had changed in the two years since she’d arrived. She was eleven now and not the same witchling at all. At times, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be a witch anymore. She sighed. That wasn’t true. She wanted to be a witch, just not the kind of witch the Tarkana Academy wanted her to be.

  For the first time in ages, Abigail felt a certain amount of hope that things were finally going to be okay. Perhaps it was because the spellbook had been destroyed once and for all that lifted her spirits. Or the fact that the world wasn’t in dire danger due to her actions. Even though Abignus, that malevolent creature who had tried to take over her powers, was still out there, the hope in her chest refused to die.

  She was excited to see Calla—the witchling always spent summers with her Great Aunt Hestera. She probably had loads of stories and new spells to share. Abigail looked around the crowd of girls but there was no sign of her friend. Perhaps she had returned early. Glorian and Nelly came up behind her. Glorian’s face was sunburned and her nose was peeling, but the two had smiles on their faces.

  “Good summer, Abigail?” Nelly asked, casually checking her nails that were perpetually sharpened into points.

  “The best. You?”

  “Besides the seasickness and meals of salted fish, it was great. Madame Barbosa taught us how to control an akkar. We had one dancing on the surface.” Nelly waved her arms in a seesaw motion.

  “Look, there’s a bunch of firstlings,” Glorian sniggered, pointing at some young pigtailed girls who made their way down the path.

  “Go easy on them, we were firstlings not so long ago,” Abigail said.

  “We’re thirdlings now, almost upperclasslings,” Glorian boasted. “I’m going to see if one of them has some of Old Nan’s jookberry muffins they want to hand over.” She shouted at a tiny sprite of a girl, “Hey you!” and stalked off toward her.

  Abigail smiled. It was good to feel like she knew her way about. She was excited to see Hugo and hear about his adventures over the summer.

  The gates opened with a loud creak, and the girls poured forward. Abigail headed for the dormitory tower along with the rest of the older girls, eager to stow her bag and change into a clean uniform, but a loud gong sounded and the girls all halted.

  A witch dressed in a sweeping emerald stood waiting at the top of the steps of the Great Hall where the firstlings would get their annual welcome lecture from Madame Vex. Her thick raven hair was coiled in a knot atop her head giving her added height. A jolt of recognition hit Abigail.

  Anarae. One of the High Witches. The sharp cheekbones and jade green eyes were unmistakable. Her lips were painted so dark they looked almost black.

  Her eyes passed over the throng of girls until they found Abigail, and then a flicker of anticipation passed over her face. She raised one finger and the girls fell silent.

  “Welcome back to those of you who have traveled afar this summer. And welcome to you firstlings who are newly joining us. This is not your usual welcoming committee. Unfortunately, Madame Hestera has found herself quite ill, so I will be taking over in her place as coven leader.”

  “You mean until she recovers,” an older girl blurted out, earning a withering stare from Anarae before a smile creased her painted lips.

  “Of course. Until she recovers. In the meantime, I expect you all to be on your best behavior. Any violation of the rules will be met with … unpleasant consequences. You will not find me as tolerant as Madame Hestera. Know that I will be watching.” With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke, leaving the firstlings gasping.

  Madame Vex hurried forward out of the shadows of the Great Hall. Her face was pinched with worry, but she clapped her hands briskly and squared her shoulders. “Alright girls, everyone but firstlings should be off to their rooms to settle in. Your class schedules will be waiting for you there. We have some new and exciting things for you this year.”

  The firstlings pressed forward as Madame Vex began her lecture on expected behavior. Abigail searched the crowd of girls but there was still no sign of Calla. And then it hit her—the girl was probably tending to her Great Aunt.

  She lugged her bag up the steps to her small tower room, excited to be home. She opened the door and sighed in relief. There was her bed with the small iron frame, her wooden desk with her schoolbooks, and her few items of clothing hung up on a rack. The ceiling sloped down, making the space even smaller, but it was hers and familiar and she contentedly flung herself back on the bed, arms splayed out.

  She felt a crinkle of paper and lifted it out from underneath her. Her class schedule was written out in spidery handwriting.

  Madame Arisa and Madame Vex were familiar of course. She felt a sliver of surprise at seeing Anarae’s name on the list. It was unusual to say the least. The High Witches usually had more important things to attend to than training young witchlings.

  There was a light tap at the door. She sat upright, expecting Calla, but it opened to reveal an ashen-faced Endera. The witchling looked over her shoulder, then slipped inside and shut the door behind her, sliding the bolt in place.

  “Endera? Whatever’s wrong?”

  The girl looked haunted, her hair disheveled and her face blotchy, as if she’d been crying.

  Endera scrubbed her fists over her cheeks. “I have to trust someone, and you’re the only one … I don’t … you know I think you’re a traitor … it’s just …”

  “Spit it out Endera. What’s wrong?”

  “Someone is trying to destroy this coven, and I need your help to stop it.”

  Chapter 2

  As the tree-lined shores of Balfour Island sailed into view, Hugo felt the biggest grin split his face. His summer had been filled with learning advanced magic with an expedition to the far shores of Garamond with Professor Markus, his Superior Senses teacher. Oskar, the boy who had once bullied him until Hugo had covered up for his cowardice when facing the giants, had become a good mate. Hugo had managed to set aside his worry about where Abignus had gone, and who was behind creating her, but as the ship docked in Jadewick, he felt the weight of it settle again. One thing he knew for certain—problems didn’t go away simply because you didn’t want to think about them.

  The ship reached dock and boys eagerly piled off. A few parents were waiting with open arms. Hugo quickly unloaded his gear, eager to head home, when he saw a light flicker on and off on a rickety old sailboat. Early morning fog cloaked the shadowy figure that stood on the deck.

  A shiver of fear ran through him. For Jasper to be signaling him, it couldn’t be good news. He hung back as the others headed home and then made his way over to the ship. The deck was deserted. He ducked under the railing and hopped on board. Dropping his bag, he lifted the hatch and peered down below.

  “Get down here before someone sees you,” Jasper’s gruff voice called out.

  Hugo climbed down, shutting the hatch behind him. The smell of dried fish made him wrinkle his nose. The old sailor sat at the galley table. A small candle burned in a dish, casting shadows on Jasper’s weathered face.

  “Jasper. Is something wrong?”

  “I have a message from Odin.”

  “Odin?” Hugo gulped. So it was bad. He slid onto the bench, resting his elbows on the table. “What is it?”

  “It’s better you hear it from the source.”

  A green furry creature hobbled forward out of the shadows.
>
  “Fetch!”

  The creature’s normally mirth-filled eyes were dark with worry. “Hugo, my visit is grave. We cannot waste time, for much is in play.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s wrong now?”

  The small creature pulled himself onto the bench next to Jasper. “Two attempts have been made on Odin’s life. The last one nearly succeeded when that serpent struck. If not for your apple, I fear the results would have been dire.”

  “That was the work of Abignus.” Hugo quickly explained how the dark spirit had taken over Abigail. “We were hoping to find out who created her, but we didn’t get far before we left on our summer trips.”

  “Odin may not survive another attempt,” Fetch continued. “He needs your help to uncover the witch who is behind these attacks. He asks that you seek out Mimir and his Well of Wisdom.”

  “Mimir? But isn’t he the one who cost Odin his eye?” Every first year student learned the story in their Introduction to the Gods class. Odin had sacrificed an eye to a sage named Mimir to gain wisdom. What would the price be for this information? Hugo worried. Another eye? An ear perhaps?

  Fetch just nodded, waiting for Hugo to answer.

  He pushed back his fear and asked, “Why doesn’t Odin ask Mimir himself?

  Jasper hesitated. “Odin has agreed to remain in Valhalla safely behind its walls until this matter has been resolved. Are you willing to do this or not?”

  Like Hugo would say no to Odin!

  “Willing. How do we find this Mimir?”

  “His well is never in the same place for long, but Odin has made reasons for him to be on Balfour Island.” Fetch’s face grew even more serious. “You must find him and get him to give you answers on who is behind these attacks before Odin decides to do something drastic.”

  “Like what?”

  Fetch dropped his eyes, twisting his hands in silence. Hugo looked at Jasper.